The Stag Night
by tasha.vick
Summary: Sherlock, as best man, takes his duties seriously, even if they are slowly killing him from the inside. Johnlock fic.


**Okay, in preparation for the inevitable flood of tears on January 1, I just wanted to put something else out there to sort of mark the end of a long period of waiting for the return of our boys, and this just popped into my head. I hope you like it. **

**xoxo**

**Tasha V.**

* * *

''Sherlock, do I absolutelly have to have this bloody blindfold on?''

''No, not really, but I dare say it's...tradition.''

Sherlock shivered at the words with disgust as he helped his now visually-impaired friend into the black limousine.

''I am your best man, am I not? Well then, I intend to do a good job of it.''

''It's not meant to be taken as one, Sherlock. It's meant to be fun.''

John knew there was a derisive smirk on his friend's face even without actually looking at him.

''Yes, well, either way, I believe this is the way one usually goes about it...sort of?''

Begrudgingly, John nodded, and leaned back in his seat.

''I don't suppose I could get a clue as to where we are going?''

''No.''

And that was all he got from Sherlock until they reached their destination. He felt the driver begin the procedure of parking the car.

''Do me a favor and don't trip over your own feet John, it would be most inconvenient'', said Sherlock, as he watched John fumble with his seat belt and make a futile attempt at finding the lock on his side of the car. Sherlock sighed and offered his arm, looping it through Johns', gently guiding him out.

He tried to control his breaths when he felt the sturdy frame of the army doctor come into contact with his, but he feared he may have failed. The act of being the supportive best friend was beginning to be one that was most difficult to put on. But, Sherlock knew that John belonged with Mary, not with his broken soul. Not even if he - in some alternate universe – reciprocated his...sentiment. He took another deep breath and ushered John down a stairwell and into the club chosen for his stag night.

* * *

John had specifically requested a calm stag night, nothing over the top. Unfortunately for him, Sherlock Holmes did nothing by halves. And even though Lestrade, Anderson and Stamford all had to cancel due to work-related issues, Sherlock was having none of John's pleas to just call it a night and have a quiet dinner in. Sherlock refused to let his plans go to waste, and John loved him all the more for having tried. Wait, what?Where did that come from, he kept asking himself, even as he felt one of Sherlock's ellegant palms in between his shoulder blades, the pressure steady and reassuring. He took a deep breath before he asked to take off the blindfold again.

''Yes, John, you may untie the cloth now. Although, I fail to see the point, since there is only the two of us here. I guess it was a bit redundant.''

''You can bloody well say that a-...''

John froze mid-sentence. He was standing in the middle of a vast ballroom, a wonderfully set oak table stood in the far left corner, a sound system at the very opposite end. Huge, ornate candelabras hung from the equally lush ceiling, soft, plush furniture dispersed ellegantly throughout the immaculate space. John thought it was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And then he caught sight of Sherlock in one of the mirrored surfaces of the wall he was facing. Looking at him. With those impossibly cerulean, gold-rimmed orbs, glinting with equal parts mirth and expectation. John was sure the room spun for at least a second. And then he regained mental footing and blinked his adoration aside, for the moment.

''It's...absolutely brilliant, Sherlock. Thank you.''

Sherlock looked away, inspecting the room further.

''What for? It hasn't started yet.''

''What hasn't?''

''Well, you didn't think this was all there was? Come, let's have dinner, as I believe I can hear your stomach growling like a starved lion, and then we can proceed. Although, I may have to make some adjustments since we are smaller in numbers than I'd originally planned.''

And even though Sherlock suspected his brother of the sudden cancellations of all his invites, he knew he should thank him. People, Mycroft knew, were not the best setting to place Sherlock in. He'd have to endure the wedding, but he was glad Mycroft had relieved him of a busy stag night as well.

''Now, the menu is already prepared, it's laid out on your plate, but you can order anything else you may want. I just...took the liberty of...supposing...what you'd like.''

John smiled fondly.

'' ''Supposing''...you mean guessing?''

''I don't guess, John. Now, are you quite finished and shall we eat, or do you have another pearl of wisdom to share with the class?''

Still smiling, Joh shook his head lightly and inspected the menu.

''Creme soup with truffles...Sauted beef and boiled peas, chocolate-whiskey tart...Sherlock, how could you possibly know I would want this?''

''Was I right is the only thing that should be important.''

''Yes, well, as usual...spot on.''

''Very well then.''

He snapped his fingers and a pair of waiters entered with their pre-dinner drinks, and the night had begun in earnest. And if between forced mouthfuls Sherlock's stomach twisted painfully at the thought of John sharing a meal with his soon to be wife, he didn't let it show. He couldn't allow for it, even if it made him feel like he was bursting at the seams.

* * *

''So, now that you've fed me up – and you've barely touched your food by the way, you know how much I hate that – what does the rest of our evening consist of?''

Sherlock's smirk grew wider, and for a moment John thought of the Big Bad Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood. And god help him if it didn't turn him on. He crossed his legs, quenching his illicit thoughts and smiled, waiting. If he broke in a thin sheen of sweat, he failed to recognize it.

* * *

Sherlock was, if he was being honest with himself, slightly apprehensive about his choice, but he figured, at least he put the effort in, and the beauty there was unmistakable. He only hoped he hadn't gone too far.

''I'm going to need you on that sofa, John. And give me a few minutes to set things up.''

With that, he left through a door John hadn't noticed at first as it was slightly obscured by the velvet curtains. He settled in the middle of the biggest leather sofa and took another sip from his wine glass. A comfortable warmth was making its way through his body and the wonderful meal in combination with the alcohol was making him slightly sleepy. Then, a soft jazz tune started making its way through the speakers that had, up to that point,been nothing more than props. It was one of his favourites, too, Joh noticed.

''That man will never cease to amaze me.'', John murmured under his breath, his eyes glazing over with images of death, incandescent final words,sad smiles and raven locks, scarlet pools of blood weaving themselves with the ice of Sherlock's skin as he lay dead on the concrete in front of St Bart's. Quickly, he wiped away the tears and a happier version of the detective was in his mind, smiling, the way Sherlock only did for him, and the fact that he was alive filled John with a kind of renewed vigour. Taking on the world again, indeed. And before he had time to remember his pending nuptials, he heard the door creak and Sherlock walked back in.

He made his way to the chair some distance away from John.

''You know, Sherlock, I don't bite.''

''Hm, what? Oh, I know, John, I just thought this is one thing you'd take pleasure in over me. So...congratulations and...enjoy.''

The door opened once more and for a moment Joh tought his eyes were deceiving him. He had to blink several times and re-focus his gaze to truly take in what he was seeing. There was no doubt whatsoever of the fact that Sherlock had hired a stripper and an exotic dancer, he had even expected it, as Sherlock wanted to do everything by the best-man-book, but this...

He took in the woman's appearance again, and his breaths were cut off. The white of her slender neck, the long dark hair, the blue-ice in her eyes and the unwavering smirk she wore as a badge of honour were so...Sherlock. She was dressed in a purple cocktail dress, with a long black coat finishing off the ensemble.

Sherlock observed John's cheeks tinge pink, and he felt another jolt of jealousy go through his core. But, he forced himself to watch and pretend the night away.

As Velour, or whatever her name was, straddled John's lap, in what Sherlock had to admit was quite a graceful way, he had a difficult time not jumping out of his seat and storming back to 221b.

* * *

John was confused. He was...torn. He wasn't as aroused as he should have been by this point, and he knew that at any given time in the past he would have been. But, there another feeling eating away at him as he watched, transfixed, as the beautiful woman writhed on top of him in such a sensual way. Finally, his inebriated self lost the battle and a bit of sobriety pushed its way through. He smiled briefly before grabbing the girl by the waist, picking her up, and setting her back on her heels. If she was startled she didn't look it.

* * *

''I'm...I'm sorry, I just...I...Sherlock, I need some water.''

Sherlock was by his side in an instant, his eyes ordering the girl out. Promptly, she obeyed and the two men were left alone.

''John, here, drink this...what is it, do you feel sick? Was it the food?''

A bitter laugh, caught in between a cry and a sob escaped John's mouth and he buried his head in his hands.

''John...talk to me...please?''

As he heard the one word Sherlock Holmes never uttered except when it was directed at him, John's panic subsided somewhat.

''You really can't see, this time, can you?''

''See what?''

Sherlock was now, and not for the first time when John Watson was concerned, at a loss for what to say.

''Just tell me you didn't orchestrate it? That I wasn't just some sort of twisted experiment, not after what we've been through...just..Sherlock...''

''John, for god's sake, you're not making any sense.''

''The girl,you prat! She was **_you_**! Well, a female version of you anyway...and I...I finally know what it feels like to have an epiphany. You know the moments, Sherlock? Right? When a puzzle is all blurred, and the lines tainted and nothing makes any sense. Well, that was my life since you came back. Not knowing left from right, right from wrong...illusion from reality, your death from life.''

John's voice wavered and he took a deep breath and swallowed the tears. He collapsed in a heap on the floor and Sherlock right next to him, staring off into space.

''I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, John. I realize her resemblance to me may have disgusted you, after all nobody wants to imagine their male best friend giving them a lap dance...I...hadn't noticed her looks.''

''Well, you're just a complete idiot aren't you?''

John looked up at him with watery eyes and a disbelieving look on his face.

''You still don't get it...let me spell it out for you then. She didn't disgust me, she just helped me...helped me stop drowning in denial, I suppose.''

When Sherlock continued to look at him with bewilderment, John shakily moved closer and took one of the taller man's hands in his, noticing the sweatiness of the palms, and after a while, the quickening of the pulse. He didn't even have to look more closely to know his pupils were dark pools of lust.

Slowly, as if the move would frighten the man off, he leaned in adn pressed his lips to Sherlock's, swallowing the man's gasp of surprise, reveling in the way his eyes slid shut with pleasure, before his did, too.

He parted only when air was a necesity and brushed Sherlock's forehead with his, hands still entwined.

''That, you absolute git, was the epiphany. Can you tell me what it was?''

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his army doctor.

''Sentiment?''

''The very same.''

''For me?''

''Very much so.''

With a shaky voice, Sherlock said that one word he feared.

''Mary?''

John's heart shattered that much more for what he was doing, but couldn't stop himself if he tried.

''I can only hope she will understand.''

''John?''

''Yes?''

''I love you, too.''

* * *

As Mycroft sat in his office, the quiet ring of his mobile woke him from his slight alcohol-induced stupor. The text simply read:

_''It worked. You were right. As always.''_

He typed a few words by way of reply and smiled before shutting the phone off. The government would have to take care of itself for one night.

On the other end, Veloure chuckled as she read her boss's words.

_''I think you're up for a promotion. Talk to Anthea in the morning.''_

She checked in on the unlikely pair furtively, the broken army doctor and the lonely Sherlock Holmes, thinking happily to herself that neither will be broken or lonely anymore. Mycroft Holmes was a devilish little Cupid, wasn't he?

_**THE END**_


End file.
